When I was a little child, I once found a bird lying on the ground. 
It would not ever fly again. 
I held the bird up in my hands, I shed my tears over the lovely song that
not longer could be heard. 

Never learn to fly. 

With dirty hands I dug a hole and gently laid the bird to rest in soil: 

a wound in the tear stained mud. 
My tears wore rain as I revealed the secrets of a tree. 
cross of bark to speak through wooden grains: 

"never learn to fly" 

I sang a song which I remembered my grandma used to sing 
for me, when I was sick and laid in bed. 

Then I cursed that day for showing me my own mortality 
for then I knew that all that lives turns cold. Cold and dead. 
And now time has passed by beneath my wings. 

[kristoffer gildenlow]

That was then I'm older now, but still I can't forget that rainy day. 
I raged against the ending times, though some day soon my son will maybe
find the tree I cleansed of skin. 
No chain-sling will ever climb its rotten limbs. 
And when the time [bad word] for me to die, I want to lie beside that bird. 

Never learn to fly. 

When I was a little child, I once found myself dying on the ground 
and now I'll never ...fly...